The Spoonbill Generator

Quenching Their Papyrus Of Filth

Saratoga springs eternal [Surlaw]

In my bathroom lair [Apsley]

Lathered up, the bashful Colonel [Surlaw]

Spat into his hair [Apsley]

In her toga Sara bridled [Surlaw]

All about to fume [Apsley]

Through the shower dim she sidled [Anon.]

In the froth and spume [Apsley]

First the loofah, then the dagger [Surlaw]

Were enlisted - in her care - [Apsley]

Subtle as the carpet-bagger [Surlaw]

Thinking what he dares to wear [Apsley]

Now she strikes; the early-warning [Surlaw]

Fails to be alert [Apsley]

Injuries, this merry morning [Surlaw]

In May, then hurt [Apsley]

The supple wrist of Saratoga [Surlaw]

In that bathroom dim [Apsley]

Apes the postures learnt in Yoga [Surlaw]

By the Seraphim [Apsley]

There he blows, the long-expected [Surlaw]

Pensioner from Delaware, [Apsley]

In his envy, half-neglected [Surlaw]

By his kith who paid the fare, [Apsley]

Now expiring; on the towels [Surlaw]

Soaked with sputum, semen, blood, [Apsley]

Saratoga's punctured bowels [Surlaw]

Release a mortal flood [Shipp]

Contributors: Surlaw, Apsley, Shipp.
Poem finished: 3rd June 2004 by Anon..